Whims of Ice
by zzSnowWhiteQueenzz
Summary: Jotunn Prince Loki always desired the throne that was rightfully his, alas ruling a decaying realm was not his wish. The stolen relic could return Jotunheim to its former glory. However his schemes bring something unexpected to his doorstep and he doesn't want to let it leave. He knew that she would be his. Loki and Sigyn centric. AU
1. The collision of two antitheses

**Author's notes:**

**This piece of fiction contains: violence, strong language and sexual themes. **

**You've been warned, read at your own discretion.**

Grammatical incorrectness – deliberate or not can be found in this piece of fiction. I do not care for complaints about it though, spare your time and don't write them.

**Any explanations about certain things in the story, references and other important details will be at the end of each chapter. **(To any possible readers of _Prophecies_ – some of my bottom author's notes will be the same as from that story but there will also be new ones, so keep an eye out for those).

* * *

**Whims of Ice**

**Chapter one **

_**The collision of two antitheses**_

He stood on the highest tower of the crumbling Jotunheim palace. Bravely lingering on the edge. It was exceedingly rare for the strong winds of the Ice Realm to be this calm and soothing; his slickened back, black hair swayed slightly and caressed his shoulder blades. The young man was uncaring for the highpoint that he stood at and the long fall that threatened any living being. It was not only great but also mortally perilous – the abyss beneath extended well beyond the underground of the cold world. If a creature survived the fall, then without the gift of flight they would never leave the chasm alive. Alas the possibility did not faze him, he remained in his position unmoving.

The red eyes of the male observed the heavens. Somewhere on the horizon the clouds seemed to have been shredded. The sole sun-star of Jotunheim was beginning to peak through. Its cold white light illuminated the corners of the tearing fabric of the sky in a stunning electric blue tint. Seeing this happening was a marvel all on its own, the occurrence of a true Winter Solstice, taking place in this snow-buried realm every millennia or so. This was a first in his lifetime witnessing this event. However it had more significance than that – it was the dawning of a New Era.

Behind him laid the slain King – the one that had called himself Laufey. He would have scoffed, this was such a twist of fate – the former Ruler had died in the very spot Odin had defeated him so many years ago. The father's head had been severed from his shoulders by his own son. There was no remorse, none whatsoever, the only thing that led him was cold calculation. It was time to bring his schemes to fruition, scraps gathered and stitched bit by bit for well over a millennium.

The small Giant that had murdered the King – committed patricide, was none other than the Jotunn Prince Loki.

* * *

The sole son of the Asgardian Rulers – Thor Odinson entered the great Hall of Gladsheim. He was greeted with loud cheers and happy faces. Holding up his weapon of power – Mjölnir, the heavenly hammer forged by the craftiest of Dwarves and enchanted by the magic of the Allfather himself, he called forth a reaction that was not unlike that of the element he ruled – thunderous roars of approval rose from the crowd.

This was his day, his day of highest triumph. The coming into reality of his lifelong dream – the apogee of his existence. It was the very reason of his birth – this was his destiny. To him – this was the pinnacle of his glory and it was well deserved, he planned on pushing even beyond this limit of greatness. He was the Ruler of the stormy skies and they were bound by none. Therefore, what was attested to his domain also extended to him – the God of Thunder, the Thunderer.

This majestic day was when the inhabitants of Realm Eternal would rejoice. He would ascend to the Throne and he would reign over all. The Crown Prince allowed himself to revel in the moment.

This was the coronation of the Mighty Thor.

His stride was wide and confident. The light of the Bright Home had never been brighter, the gold and adamantine shone more brilliantly than ever before. The pride everyone felt for the soon-to-be-King was overwhelming. The eyes of everyone present gleamed in wonder and appreciation; his family, his friends, his subjects – all were there to give their respects at the time of his absolute magnificence.

The son stood before his father. The former Ruler's staff of power – Gungnir was brought down to the ground – all was silent. The action commanded utter obedience and the self-satisfied man-child believed that he would control his people even better. The marvelous ceremony was stunning – it was rightly so, the days of his Kingship would soon begin.

The predecessor began the rites, the succession began. The young Aesir billowed his replies to every oath presented. He swore himself to his world, to forever care and protect it.

The perfection was shattered violently, horrification dawned on the Godling's face. His fate was ripped from out of his grasp when it was just a hairsbreadth away. A faithful whisper from the Odinfather's lips had torn his lifelong-sought grandeur asunder – '_Frost Giants_'…

* * *

Long tables adorned with feast of Gods were upturned and tumbled down in a fit of rage. The de-crowned had-to-be-King displayed his frustration in loud roars. The heated epithets spewed were not born from heroic sentiment as they should have been, it was the Storm God's wounded pride beneath that spoke in unconscious falsity.

The other Asgardians present – the Warriors Three and Lady Sif were all upset by the turn of events. Their greatest friend as well as their leader was supposed to be celebrating his ultimate victory – the coming into power. Alas thus did not occur. The threat was silenced before it even touched its goal but the appearance of it in the first place was more than unsettling. The infiltration itself should not have been possible, however Asgard – the safest and greatest of Realms was breached by a band of rogue Jotunns. The fact that they were all dust now did not soothe anyone that was aware of it.

The conversation was livid on the Prince's side, while his closest of allies tried in vain to calm and reason with him. It did not matter which but one of the warriors present had uttered a phrase meant in jest – no one knew what terrible consequences a few carelessly said words could have. Thor took it to heart in all seriousness – claiming it with desperate clutches for retaliation. He voiced this transgression to be an insult to his Kingdom, an open threat of war, although in reality, deep down inside his arrogant mind, it was truly an insult to him.

To the Throne Heir it was a suggestion and he immediately took to convincing his weapon's brothers (the woman warrior included). If the Allfather would do nothing, then he – as the meant Ruler, would take the matters into his own hands.

No one believed in the success of this preposterous offer (command). Everyone told their opinions on the matter and they opposed the royal Aesir's wishes, all treading carefully, not meaning to drive the storming man more. But he was all joyful now – as if the battle was already conquered, he did not doubt that this 'decision' was already settled in his favor.

It was Fandral that dared to express himself louder than others, he named this task a 'suicide mission'. However the Golden one would have none of it, he did not take offense in what the gallant male had voiced aloud. Everything just went through his ears unheard and ignored. The God of Thunder was no master tactician but he knew how to sway his friends to join him on this quest (but that was not how he understood his actions). He addressed each one separately, addressing by name and reminding of the impossible things they'd achieved together and how he always offered support when they were in need.

Sooner than anyone could have expected they conceded to the Thunderer. The said man observed his friends, each wore an expression of grim concentration. Only he was less moved by this possibility, his emotions towards it were born from his immense self-assuredness, which was not empty – his prowess as a warrior was indeed something frightfully potent. As unbeatable as he was in battlefield, the Aesir Prince did lack in the area of prudent approach – that was his father's position. Alas Odin was none the wiser to this outrage.

Thor glanced to Lady Sif, she looked deep in contemplation. He had grand plans for her – she would make a wise Queen. Someone who shared his views and his understanding – the right person to claim the position of being by his side. But those thoughts were the furthest thing from his mind, he had a score to settle.

* * *

That was how the Crown Princes of Jotunheim and Asgard had come to power, one over the realm, the other – over himself. Both took it by force, although just one had planned it this way. They were destined to be enemies before their birth. The first move had been made and it would bring forth the collision of the two antitheses.

* * *

**A/N**

Gladsheim in Norse mythology is a realm in Asgard, where Valhalla is located, in other sources it is the name of Odin's meeting hall. In this fic it is the name of the Asgardian palace itself. Gladsheim in old Norse means "bright home", that is why in some places I refer to it as the Bright Home.

To those who may not know Norse mythology well, then that part where Thor thinks of Sif as his future queen are not ramblings of a ThorxSif shipper (in all actually I couldn't care less). In the myths Sif is Thor's wife. To be clear this is quite the AU story, so it will soon stop taking bits of the first movie, therefore Jane Foster will not be part of this.

And so this is the ending of the first chapter. To those who are reading _Prophecies_, then I have to tell you that _Whims of Ice_ will not be as detailed and definitely not as lengthy chapter-wise. Fear not, for I do care about details, however this story is more straight-to-the-point and less everything-about-nothing.

You have no idea how much gut it required of me to start writing this. This is extremely nerve-wracking, mainly because we have Jotunn Loki! 'So what?' you say, so a lot – it is quite difficult to portray him IC when him being a Jotunn of Jotunheim (and not an adoptive son of Odin) already makes him OOC. It just haunts me that it may turn out that he is not anything like himself, well hopefully it's just me uselessly fretting. But that is not all of my concerns, this story is secondary to me (_Prophecies_ having the primal light) and I can just hope that neither will be abandoned or fall behind. **Responses from readers encourage me a lot – they are vital, so if you enjoy any of my fics – do not be silent if you care for their continuation.**

Despite the fact that there are several chapters of this piece of fiction pre-written I cannot set up a regular update. That is why I strongly suggest you add this to your alert list (if you like it, that is) for there is no specific time that I can give you to have as an orienteer on when to drop by. If it is of any solace, then if you are not familiar with _Prophecies_ (my other LokixSigyn fic), then you can try giving it a read, there's quite a bit of it published already (100k at the moment).

**If you liked this – please review! I need sustenance in the form of reviews to keep me going.**


	2. Eternally content

**Chapter two**

_**Eternally content**_

Sigyn rushed through the hallways of the Golden palace. She nearly ran through them, the speedy pace was chosen not because of grace, no the young woman did not want to trip or cause unnecessary panic (not that there were many people present at this hour). Her heart was in her throat, she was fretting immensely.

She was just a slip of a girl, merely over a millennium of age, which by the measure of Aesir made her just step into adulthood. The Lady was short compared to fully grown Asgardian females. Her hair was frizzled and gathered in a loose braid, the coloration of which was platinum blond. A color unheard of because most of the light-haired Realm dwellers had golden wheat hair. The difference in both height and hair was something of her heritage, she was indeed an Asgardian for she had lived in Realm Eternal all of her life but by blood she was Vanir and Dvergar. Her eyes were of the brightest spring green, her face childishly round, accented by plump lips and cheeks dusted with freckles. She was pale in skin, which refused to be loved by the sun, the unmerciful rays of the star of Asgard only burned her flesh leaving an unattractive and tender red. The fact that she could not fully enjoy the warmth of summer days saddened her greatly but that was also something from her unique mix of kin, which flowed through her veins.

The female Vanir was dressed in her garb of duty, the brown gown swished wildly as she made her swift way through the many corridors. She was a healer, her mentor was Eir herself – the Goddess of Healing. To any commoner this was a privilege and to train under the watchful gaze of the head healer – was a true blessing. Sigyn got along well with her powerful teacher. Her gift in magic was potent and she had never failed the master, alas the strain of the possibility of ever coming short was great. Lady Eir was not someone anyone wished to upset, she was knowledgeable and immovable in her strong opinions – much to the girl-woman's fortune she was held in high esteem by the older Goddess.

But that was not all that she was, while her work in the medical wing had already been long and formidable (alas her success was not noticed by anyone, not that she wanted it to be) she also had a relatively new duty. For the last several centuries she had been an Asynjur – one of the Queen's handmaidens. All females that upheld that position were capable in magic and minor physical defense, their line of duty was to serve their Majesty in any way that she wished. This consisted of: serving as a meager band of bodyguards – for when there was no threat and Frigga simply needed an escort, and doing any trifle tasks that held more significance than those given to servants. Perhaps there was also the idea that the Asynjur were meant to keep the High Goddess company, alas they were never really involved into any conversations with her. Not because it was beneath a person of such a stature, it was most possibly so because the ones that served were not meant to get familiar with their mistress. Therefore the females that had the privilege of serving under the Queen were silent and obedient, answering only to the call of the Monarch herself. As much as Sigyn knew, none of the Asynjur were close to one another or in higher graces of Frigga, she was no exception to that. Despite being quite observant and more schooled (although most of it was self-taught) she was no better in knowing the calm and beautiful, yet mysterious Ruler of Asgard.

In all truth the young Lady's stance in the hierarchy of this world was not quite according to her heritage. Her position should have been higher and she was not even part of the court. She was the granddaughter of an ex realm-Ruler – Lord Njord, alas due to the outcome of the Aesir-Vanir wars, which had taken place prior her birth, their world was now abandoned and overrun by wildlife. He currently resided in Real Eternal, ruling over the region of Noatun. The used-to-be-King's daughter Freya – her mother, was considered a high Noblewoman in Asgard. The girl's father was a Dwarf, a province King in Svartalfheim named Iwaldi. Therefore by blood she was a Princess and should have stood on nearly equal grounds with the Crown Prince – Thor himself, and not so far beneath him. Many of the Asgardian nobility of less impressive birth – even they were higher than a meager healer. And Sigyn Iwaldidottir was content with that.

She did not need the fine silken garb and expensive jewelry of court Ladies, nor the freedom of walking unburden by duty (whether that of a healer or an Asynjur). And she did definitely have no wish to be part or even less the center of high society's gossip and slander. As much as princesses and tiaras, and princes on white steeds fascinated little girls – the Vanir was not a naïve child. High places were dangerous and not for the faint or overly kind of heart. She was not cut out for the vicious viper nest that the court-life was. The female knew that she was spineless and useless in those areas that were most needed in that kind of existence. Surviving it would have been disastrous for her: games of beauty and finesse, cunning and scheming, not even to mention power-play and political nuances (not like she would actually be any part of that, since she was a woman and an unimportant one at that). In her understanding she had no valuable opinions to be shared and worried too much about saying something utterly foolish or wrong (and the fret was not without reason, she added).

She was content with being unknown but she did not label herself as completely unimportant, yes the Queen could have replaced her with any other gifted girl, but she was a capable healer. And while she did not think of herself as great, the female knew that a decent healer was never a nuisance. Therefore the woman had a meaningful existence and she was content with her purpose. Her training in this field of work was the grace of the Norns themselves, she was not purposeless or a waste of breath – and she was infinitively glad for that.

That was her life – eternal contentment. Although there were times when the flame of Vanaheim and the stubbornness of Svartalfheim arose but those were always quickly snuffed out. Sigyn was not aware of the fact that she did not think like an Aesir, even less so when compared to nobility. Views of Asgard were unconsciously not something she shared. She lacked their convictions and thought on her own: she did not judge as Asgardians did and did not take pride or offense where they would. She did not feel dishonored by her mother's – the love goddess's Freya's actions. The woman's lack of care towards her children was also not something that fazed her. The young Lady loved the older woman, even if in reality she was underserving of the adoration. King Iwaldi was also a distant person to her, nonetheless he was also loved without actual reason.

In her short count of years her caretaker since infancy had been her grandfather Lord Njord. It was according to his will that she was now a betrothed woman. Her father was aware of it and of course did not oppose and her mother was probably too far away or too uncaring to be notified of this. All of her elder sisters were already married and the Vanir King had always arranged these matrimonial unions and they all took place as if on schedule, now was her turn. They were all given to be wed while still very young, alas by the traditions of Realm Eternal that did not have to necessarily be so. The female took this occurrence without complaint and with a calm façade. She could not disagree, her match was indeed splendid: the man was a Crimson Hawk – one of the Allfather's elites, so he was beneficial to their world, held a high station in the tiers of the hierarchy and could provide for a family in abundance. Still there was the glaring fact that she did not wish to be married, not because of her duty (which required most of her time) but because she simply did not have interest in such. Courting was but a fantasy of childhood and the reality of it was now more than unwanted. Marriage frightened her beyond belief, she knew well what that enthralled for her and she doubted whether she would enjoy any of it. The mixed-blood Vanir had never been smitten by anyone and when the years of childish imaginary had nothing but passed she lost all interest in the aspect. She obeyed well and was aware of all that she was to do, however it did not mean that she could do it without breaking herself like a horse to a saddle. The girl-woman willed herself frequently to ignore this rapidly approaching duty of wife that swayed in front of her like a noose. She was not yet content with it but she would be, she _had_ to be. If her mind ever strayed from the path it had to take, fighting it greatly, then life itself would bend her to be content with it and make her follow demurely.

Sigyn had been ready to retire for the night when loud, hasty knocking thwarted her plans. She was already out of her ceremonial garb and in the ones of her duty (although by the idea she should have been wearing nightclothes already). The opened door had revealed a guard that informed her of Lady Sif requesting her presence. Nothing else was told and she believed that the man knew no more of why she had been called.

The young woman respected the Goddess greatly. She was to be admired for her skill and intelligence as a fighter. And somewhere deep in the bowels of the female's psyche a stomped yet undying flame envied Sif for the abilities she possessed, but she herself was hopeless in the areas required of a warrior.

Because she was one of the Queen's handmaidens she had been present in the coronation. Due to her proximity to the royalty she had heard of the threat that had appeared. Frost Giants had entered their world, the evil that parents told their children about as bedtime stories. And the babes believed the creatures to be the monsters lurking in the shadows, closets and underneath their beds. Whatever tales about the Ice Jotunns were told she understood Asgard's defenses to a certain extent – surely it had been taken care of. If it were an army – the people would have been warned. It had been hours since the Throne succession was interrupted, therefore she was asked for not because someone was wounded due to the breach. If that had been so – then surely the Goddess of Healing would have been called and not she.

The girl had only the power she carried within at her disposal, no instruments of her trade were brought along with her – she was not aware whether she needed them anyway.

Being called by the warrioress was not as strange an occurrence as some could have thought it to be. She – the meek Sigyn Iwaldidottir had had the taste of the battlefield before. She was like the personal healer of the Prince, the warrior Goddess and the trio of fighters. Many would have believed her to be a domestic one: dealing with great wounds – yes, but never outside the safe walls of Asgard or maybe even just within the walls of the fortress itself. Alas such belief was false – the Vanir had taken the sidelines in weapon-including conflicts, healing the fallen right on the bloodied fields – denying the Valkyries of their claim. She prided herself in this honor and was not foolish enough to assume that she could not perish there, never did she expect to gain a place in the Hall of Slain for this feat. No, not Valhalla and not even her mother's overseen Folkvangr would house her soul once the girl-woman died. Only Hel could give her shelter and she was content with that. These little adventures with the most magnificent of the Realm's defenders was not just an honor only she held, it also kindled the fire of Vanaheim inside her – rebelling against her contentment of being nothing. Alas she was not aware of this, at least not consciously.

This requesting of her personally and no other – frightened her. The God of Thunder had to be upset. Why was she needed? All that the half-blood healer could hope for was that it was not because of her wound-mending abilities. But it was possible that in his gargantuan displeasure the Storm God had hurt himself, maybe he had sparred with another to quell the tension and that got too far... Which was why exactly she was to be called upon – to keep these happenings discreet – they did trust her, and the girl did not plan on doing anything to upset this frail belief in her. The possibilities though, were endless. Please, all of you, be alright – Sigyn thought to herself. She had to make haste and reach her destination as soon as possible.

* * *

**A/N**

Sigyn's family tree is Marvel-based.

Eir is the goddess of healing in the Norse mythology, her name in old Norse means _help/mercy_.

_Asynjur_ is actually the plural of the female word form of _Aesir_. I used it as a term to represent Frigga's handmaidens, however that is incorrect. When I had chosen it I was unaware of that and I guess that my choice in word was inspired by a fanfiction (or fanfictions) I've read (since I do believe that I've read it in that context somewhere). I hope you can pardon me for that, as I will continue calling the queen's handmaidens as the Asynjur.

Njord is a Vanir god that lives in Noatun (region unspecified, in this fic located in Asgard), he is the god of the seas and the overseer of fishermen.

Freya is the daughter of Njord and she is the goddess of love (she is also associated with fertility, sexuality, beauty, gold and death). Her name means _lady_.

Iwaldi is a dwarf and the father of a group of blacksmiths (number unspecified), who forged Gungnir (Odin's spear), golden hair for Sif (to replace the hair that Loki had cut) amongst other things. They were involved in a bet that Loki lost, in which he said that other dwarf smiths (mainly Brokk) would not be able to craft better items than those made by the sons of Iwaldi. Loki lost the bet because in the things that they forged was Mjolnir. For losing he had to pay with his head but by trick he managed to escape death, since decapitating him would have required the dwarf to harm his neck – which was not mentioned in the deal. For his lies Loki had his lips sown shut.

Freya does not have children with Iwaldi in the mythology, that part is Marvel based (so Sigyn is child of neither in the canon myths).

Norns in the Norse mythology are goddesses that decide the course of one's destiny. They are the equivalent of the Moirae (Fates) in the Greek mythology.

Folkvangr is a place similar to Valhalla, it is where the other half of the ones that died in battle go. It is overlooked by Freya.

Now before anyone is about to say anything about Sigyn's portrayal I wish to tell you a few things. I am well aware what a frequent depiction of her this is. However it is important to this story, it would not work otherwise (per example my Sigyn type from _Prophecies _would be completely impossible to use here). She is weak, meek and complaint – as intended by me. I have to tell you though that I hate characters like this Sigyn (I do value what their uses to the plot are and I know that it cannot be in any other way, alas that doesn't mean that I will like them). It is not because of preference of portraying weak women that I have written her as such. No, her personality is vital to this fic. **If you do not like stories that have Sigyn described as such, then I'd recommend you to not read this piece of fiction.**

That being said, **if you do like this fic then I hope that with this chapter I have given you enough material to review! So please review because your commentary is vital for me!**

**I have uploaded this chapter quite soon, that does not mean that it will always be like this.** But I thought that perhaps updating at random is not quite the best solution either. So, **I will not be setting up a certain timeframe** (like in _Prophecies_), **however I will inform you on what day **_**Whims of Ice**_** should be updated** (so the orienteer will not be, for example – two weeks. No, you will be told of a date which will probably be random). And so, **the third chapter should be uploaded on the 25th of March.**


	3. A healer, a fetter, an oath protector

**Chapter three**

_**A healer, a fetter, an oath protector – capable of betrayal**_

The healer was close to her destination, just a bit more and she would know what plight had befallen Asgard's best. Sigyn did not even reach it when she saw a lone figure standing idly before the door to the chamber she was to meet her caller. She instantly recognized the person to be the one she sought.

Her last steps were indeed a run and she forgot to follow protocol she always did so valiantly. Her first words did not mask her anxiety.

"What has happened?"

The dark haired woman was lost in thought and returned her attention to the one that had spoken only when she stopped just a few paces in front of her.

"Oh. Sigyn" that was the actual greeting and a long pause stretched between them.

The Vanir still heavy on her breath could not contain the second inquiry, she hoped that the other would stifle her fears.

"Is anyone hurt?"

The answer to the issued question came after a shaking of a head.

"Do not worry, everyone is fine"

She nearly collapsed in relief but a sigh did escape, it indicated her now seemingly unburdened state.

The troubled expression did not leave the warrior-Goddess and there again was a pause, far too precious trickles of time were wasted in silence. It renewed the girl's worry.

"I need you to confirm that you will keep what you will hear to yourself" this line of conversation to the listener appeared to be uttered in the wrong place, however the corridor was empty, there was no one that could have overheard it. She continued "Whether you will agree or disagree to this request is of no importance. The choice is all yours but you have to say that my words will not befall any ears" the tone was calm, silent and commanding. It did not help the girl-woman's inner equilibrium, which was more than off-balance.

"My Lady, you know that I will not tell a soul" she answered truthfully, this was not the first when the information entrusted to her would be just hers to keep – and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Therefore the question should not have been asked but she reassured the warrioress nonetheless. Alas she somehow had a feeling that this would not bode well, she was not aware that she was right.

Sif did not wave her off as she usually did when the young untitled Lady used the proper titles. She did not seem to notice that it was used anyway, there was no denying as if it were an unnecessary bother nor was there any vain pleasure taken in the heightening name-calling. The Asynjur did not care that she was the one to use the other's status always, while the female warrior never referred to her equally, she was just Sigyn to her. Although in reality she was a Princess and should have been spoken to accordingly but no one did and no one (including the royal woman herself) cared. This fact that the battle-dressed woman did not care unsettled her because she was never this spacy in demeanor.

The blonde thought that perhaps she had in mind the whole situation with the Jotunns. Though she quickly discarded the idea to elaborate on the matter and disclose that she already knew of the break-in.

A nod at it and she assumed talking.

"This mission is very dangerous. I have no delusions that we may escape without being wounded altogether. It is more than possible that we will need the aid of a healer right on the battlefield. Due to this possibility, perhaps more correctly – certainty, you will have the choice to decline"

The young woman had already paced her inhales and exhales correctly, so she did not puff like a pudgy creature after a run from Hel. She did not like the Goddess's careful phrasing at all – it was pretty clear by it, that this 'mission' was not official. Thus only added to the severity and hazardousness of it.

"I accept it. My duty is to serve and offer my help in any way that I can be of assistance. I will not refuse it" even without knowing to what she was agreeing to, Sigyn did it anyway. It was simply impossible for her to flee from her meaning in life – she would not pass a wounded and when her presence was required by her Lords, it was an absolute. Saying 'no' was not an option. Alas something in her gut was warier than it should have been.

Lady Sif looked as if she was going to argue her instant agreement but she swallowed the opposing. She met the worried light green eyes with her serious hazel orbs.

"We are to travel to Jotunheim and get some answers, retaliate to this grave insult thrown to our realm"

An 'insult' – it was a line she would have expected to hear from the Golden Throne Heir. Then again it was clear that the female fighter adored him, perhaps more blindly then she should have – but that was none of the girl's business. Her jaw went slack with the revelation – to march into the Ice Realm and go against a whole army... Had she heard correctly? – but the question was just wishful thinking. Could this possibly work out for the good of their world? Would this not affirm the declaration of war? Perchance they would survive this... Maybe even attain victory... Maybe... Still she felt as if she was signing her own death warrant.

"I will join you and I will aid you as best as I can" the healer forced herself to answer firmly, although her knees were shaking.

* * *

The trip was uneventful. The brunette offered little information concerning this venture. What she told were only abstract explanations. Sigyn understood that it was not born from ill-will, this quest was only an idea and not yet a fully formed mission.

When they entered the hall the mood resembled a secret gathering. Everyone present looked grim, only the air surrounding the royal male was different. Thor was silent, which was so out of character. However there was something that lingered about him that seemed pleased and she realized instantly that it was upon his suggestion that the 'walk' into Jotunheim would commence. He was glad for what was to come.

Because of the state the warriors were in, she thought that she understood the severity of this quest. It was strange and frightening that her entrance did not garner the usual reactions. The Vanir understood that the Aesir female had not told of her involvement and prior their arrival the group was waiting for the member that had been absent. No one questioned why a healer was brought in this, even the Prince himself that was so assured of the success (if he were not, then this whole thing would not have begun at all) did not instantly oppose. The ones that had noticed her more clearly and understood why she was here appeared to be somewhat relieved, although no words were shared concerning thus.

Their greeting was deflated and different from the norm. This just made it all worse. Even if she did not appreciate Fandral's unceasing flirt, she still noticed the lack of it. The saber wielding man always had a smile etched on his face when a female was present – now the expression was missing from his physiognomy. There were none of Volstagg's boisterous and jolly greetings. Hogun did not utter his few reserved lines that he usually did, now there was only a nod in acknowledgment. At this moment he lived up to the name the other soldiers often used for him – Hogun the Grim. She had always regarded his demeanor as that of a very gathered and disciplined person – but now he looked too dreary for it to only be attested to that of a perfectly trained fighter.

* * *

The last minute included woman was silent throughout the conversation. She was not asked to share her opinion on the matter, therefore she offered no commentary. She was not surprised to find out that this whole outrageous plan would commence tonight.

During the gathering of sorts the Throne Heir had once spoken of her presence. He said that it was unnecessary to involve their little healer in this skirmish, he was sure that everything would be fine. However with the careful reasoning of others he had conceded, she would do no harm even if her presence would be unneeded.

She did not stay with them long, for she was asked to go and gather everything she deemed necessary to take with her.

The band created for this task, without the Allfather's approval, still remained to form this mission more thoroughly. Afterwards she knew that at least some of them too would leave to take their weapons and meet again at the appointed place.

* * *

The young Lady scurried about her room, the one located in the palace. It housed nearly all of her meager possessions, due to this residence being called her own for quite some time. She searched her wardrobe for clothing that would fit the indescribably cold world she was to soon enter into. No furs fitting for such were owned – the winters of Asgard did not require such garb.

True, the bitter temperature would not end her, nor would it bring to perish any Aesir, but still it could do plenty of damage if they stayed there for more than a day. The never-ending snow and ice could turn any other-realm dwellers lethargic – and she was no warrior trained to withhold such drastic changes for long; it could also damage limbs and slow their responsiveness; but worst of all it could lull into an illusion of a slumber, making one pass into a state of permanent comatose. She shivered at the idea, the so-called immortals could spend centuries and millennia frozen and appearing dead, without any outward assistance they would remain such.

After a lengthy search she had located a long lamb-skin coat, with rabbit's plush fur on the inside as well as the trims and collar. It did not look fancy or suited for nobility – but she did not care and she did not think of herself as royalty. This was a gift from her father. While Realm Eternal was mild and consistent in its weather, Iwaldi's heim-land – Svartalfheim was not. He had given to her this coat not as an expensive present but rather out of necessity. It had been ages since she'd traveled into the world of Dwarves and Dark Elves; Goblins and Trolls – and all other kinds of unsightly creatures. Alas the province King's daughter remembered well the dangerous cliff roads of mountains covered in eternal white of snow, the freezing winds and storms were also not something forgettable.

Her pack should have been large but it was not. If the situation were any different she would have smiled at that. Serving under the Queen so closely had had its merits, she was tutored in magic and compressing a bag to be lighter and smaller was not something distant and out of her range of abilities now. The blonde Asynjur was in a hurry, she almost haphazardly threw various healing equipment into the poor-looking, brown satchel. The items in it consisted of various: tools, cloths and bandages, vials and herbs.

This whole trip did seem a lunacy to her, although she did not wish to judge the Prince's decisions. No matter of her lowly stance, she did pack something that would have opposed his very understanding of this quest. But he did not need to know of this and in the dreaded case if it were necessary, then no one could complain that she had brought such. Their mission was to take several hours, no more than a day – they would confront the boundary-overstepping Jotunns (teach them a lesson, if need be) and leave. The idea was simple, alas if anything were to go awry – they could be stranded in the vast realm of unceasing frost (given if they would not be killed by the monstrous inhabitants). And days in such a barren place could not only weaken the group but make everyone completely nonfunctional – thus would definitely lead to their untimely doom, even if it were but a few Frost Giants to locate them. Therefore she packed a small reserve of food – various dried and conserved sustenance, it would hopefully last for several days.

The preparing girl also took a few blankets and quilts (although she doubted that those would be of any actual use, Jotunheim was simply too cold). Several parchments with inked runes and charms – those were of an array of purposes. In the worst case scenario they would need to conjure heat but where in such a desolate place would one acquire kindling, she doubted that there would be any. The Vanir was a healer and less than a dabbler in the vast array of magics; fire was not her strong suit, in all actually none of the elements were. Her meager abilities could help birth flame to an already built bonfire, only if the surrounding conditions (winds, air density and etcetera) were perfect. So she took premade fire spells, hoping that it was suffice (she could do no better), and best – that it would be just a precaution anyway.

For probably the first time in her life Sigyn thought wistfully of a different kind of a magic to be obedient to her whims – the dark arts. In the forbidden section of the palace library she had seen quite a few tomes on it, at least a dozen contained the knowledge of highest flame wielding – pyromancy: sun flare; nova; pyre flame; black, green, blue and white flame; winter blaze and so much more... Having power over any of those would aid greatly in keeping the Asgardians warm in the Ice Realm. She shook her head, if anyone were to know of her thoughts on the subject or that she actually knew (even if it were just basic summaries or in some cases just names) of the black arcane knowledge – she would be punished severely. It would be of no importance – her honorable intent. Was it not said that the path to Hel was paved with good intentions? The woman absently thought that perhaps many had meant well but the consequences of their actions were too horrid to take into account the idea beneath. She did not wish to join their ranks because of her naivety and foolishness.

When she was done with her current assignment, she breathed in relief finding that there was still some time left. The girl-woman had felt ill about the whole impending ordeal initially, although it seemed to be just a faulty premonition. But as the sands of time fell into oblivion of the past, the feeling intensified more than a hundred times. Now she knew that it would not end well, that it would somehow be so terrible that she found no words to describe it. Alas there was nothing she could do to stop it – only tag along in vain hopes to lessen whatever it was that waited for them in that world, that no one of the group had ever set foot in.

She felt guilty, wretched – lesser than an insect, and she feared, feared of what repercussions her actions would bring. No, she was already resigned to whatever that would befall her and them all; as long as they returned alive – it was all that mattered.

The Lady-not-Lady did not want to doubt her had-to-be-King's fighting abilities but no matter how great the Storm God was, silent voices in her head warned that it would not be enough. She was not used to betraying, she had never betrayed a soul – not consciously or unconsciously, that was against her very nature. And now she planned to betray the trust of the ones she liked to consider her friends (even if she was no more than an acquaintance or a servant to them). But enough was enough, it was all evil anyway – she simply had to pick the lesser one. It was better if the Crown Prince would return alive, rather than a corpse. She would be damned if she could make a choice and keep them all breathing but not do it because she valued his pride and her oaths more. None would die because she was a coward, the healer would beg for forgiveness later. And like that Sigyn Iwaldidottir decided; she had another task to take care of.

* * *

**A/N**

No explanations in this chapter but as always, if you have any questions don't be afraid to ask them (I always reply, to guest readers as well)!

**If there will be reviews I will publish the next chapter on the 8th of April. So if you like this – please comment! Because if no one will be willing to say anything, I cannot promise you when I'll update.**


	4. When the dead go marching in

**Author's notes:**

**Dear Guest, **thank you very much for the review! It makes me very happy to know that someone is enjoying my story!

* * *

**Chapter four**

_**When the dead go marching in **_

Passing through the Gatekeeper of the Rainbow Bride was easier than Sigyn had thought it would be. Alas it wasn't the Prince's authoritativeness that made Heimdall concede, it was the frighteningly stoic man's curiosity that allowed their group to pass.

It should not have been strange – the fact that he knew of their destination. Even if he were not all-seeing, then surely the garb of some, as well as the recent happenings could not have indicated a different purpose. Still the Guardian of the Bifröst commented that they should have dressed warmer, and his warning – that his gates would not open should thus pose a threat to his pledge to protect, was unnerving. But the healer did not wish war to befall Asgard, if such happening meant that she herself would survive – she did not want that, she was not that selfish.

This was not her first time travelling by the shimmering bridge, which connected the vast space of Cosmos. Still it left an unpleasant vertigo in its wake. She was glad that it had not been the same experience as her first few times – nausea was an unwanted guest. The Vanir girl calmed herself with a silly little comparison: she interpreted the centrifuge created by the Bifröst as staying too long on a swing and then facing the repercussions. The childish metaphor of swinging, and not crossing stars and nebulae at the speed of a blink of an eye, was soothing.

Jotunheim was dark, if not for the pearlescent shine of snow it would have been too unbearable even for godly sight to conquer. The young Lady guessed that it was evening that was falling in the cold world. It was nighttime in Realm Eternal so if it was actually possible to measure time by such vast distances, if the realms truly turned the same way, then it was earlier in this desolate place. Asgard was bright and assuredly marching into the day anew, while the Ice Realm had to be dying in the day of old. She reckoned that it was always sunless and dreary in this world, the darkness seemed befitting in her mind.

But it was not the lack of light that moved her most. No, the woman was immediately stunned by the cold. She expected it but it was impossible to do so accurately. It was beyond words – the frost that set into her very bones. And try as she might, she was unable to fight the shivers that wracked her form. Heimdall's words echoed in her head menacingly, should they bring forth doom impossible to measure they would remain lost here forever, salvation would not greet them with open arms. Neither would death, she thought. If their arrival was as unnoticed as it appeared, then when ice would win their outrageous little band over – there would be no Valkyries or her mother's royal fleet to ferry their spirits away. Battle or no battle, this world was beyond their care, the deceased as well. Given if their souls would escape the confines of their frozen bodies at all. The female did not think that Hel would be in their abilities to reach, so they would all be left to wander for eternity. Such a deathless death was beyond the horror her mind could have ever spawned.

Her thoughts about this realm had been correct: the snow and frost was all over. But somehow different from what she had seen of such prior. Perhaps it was the absence of a sun that made it all so blue-ishly grey and so it did not blind her with its purity, like the snow-buried mountaintops of Svartalfheim had, which often inspired dementia to set its perilous wings upon the heads of those who spent too much time in such endless sheets of white-light.

The girl-woman had expected to see humongous mountains but how she envisioned them did not reflect reality. These structures of nature appeared to be hovering, no that was not the correct word for it, they did look immensely heavy but stood on needle-thin bases unmoving. They were all in straight verticals that could not have been anything if not forged by creatures. This realm was unbelievable.

The winds that were created by their abnormal method of arrival made one of the mountains tumble and the loudness of it startled her – that could not have been unheard by the inhabitants. Alas no one showed up and Thor ignored a remark from his comrades that their presence should never have 'graced' this world. He simply shrugged the comment off as if unhearing and beckoned everyone to follow.

As their group progressed slowly on foot Sigyn came to the realization that these pillar-like mountains were not mountains indeed – they were ruins of great structures. Having grown up in Asgard one might have formed a certain view on grandeur or become immune to it completely, however she was not one of those. Whether that was due to her heritage or her nature – did not matter. The Vanir still found herself in awe at the beauty of Realm Eternal but what she felt for this place of Eternal Cold was different – it was fearful respect. The crumbled remains of buildings were no less impressive than those of the Golden World.

The further she went the more frightened by this place she became. It held the silence of a tomb and the Prince answered to the seemingly rhetorical question that the Ice Jotunns were hiding like the cowards that they were. The Asynjur doubted the validity of his statement but it was not her place to oppose the royal Asgardian.

The deeper they ventured into the ruins the more it became apparent that it was not as destroyed as the initial view had depicted. A dome akin to a palace that could have rivaled Gladsheim itself arose in the distance. The feeling that they had landed in some important location intensified, the healer had no knowledge of the layout of this world but it was more than possible that they were in the heart of it. She thought that there was no way that this fortress was abandoned, it was (as much as she could tell) still in a condition that could be inhabited. This would not bode well, she heard a voice repeat for probably the hundredth time this fateful day.

As they neared the ghostly castle, the Lady began to think that this was all a trap. She tried to re-direct her mind into a different route, worry would not do her duty good, but it was difficult to transport her conscious into someplace else. With unspeakable efforts she managed to continue assessing the 'palace', she wondered what it could have looked like in its days of glory and prosperity. It was more than obvious that beings capable of building such were no mere monsters without thought or capacity for strategy. Even if it all were built and designed by slaves of war, still the ability to create such ploy was well beyond that of a dense creature. And wasn't attesting lack of intellect to an enemy that clearly was not short on it a great danger all on itself? Sometimes she really did not understand how the Nine worked...

* * *

There were runes hidden in the Realm, some buried deep underground, some placed on mountaintops, others secured within structures of old – they all formed an intricate sigil outspread and embracing the vast world of cold. They all become alive as the barrier was breached. Loki removed his fingers from his temples, he felt inside his head the exact moment the shield was penetrated. In pain his nerves alit as if thunder was travelling through them and buzzing incessantly.

The new King instantly felt the arrival of his guests. His little rabbit took the bait and ventured straight into his den. Like a trained hunter he was patient and waited for the trap to shut. Let them come right to his doorstep, he would greet those that he awaited...

His awareness of these strangers was not limited, he knew the exact number that now stood in his frosted lands. And still he peered down from his throne to look into the freshly spilt blood of a Jotunn that lay at his feet. The view in the sanguine liquid allowed him to observe, it reflected not future but the 'now' that occurred. The murky sight that he was presented with was enough, for now.

The Giant set his red eyes upon the one that led this band of 'heroes', strays truly and so far from home... He recognized the man instantly, even if the tales would lack the physical description, the way the Aesir held himself was quite unmistakable. He would recognize the Odinson anywhere. The arrogance was so obvious that even such an ethereal visage could not obscure it and the blue-skinned creature was intimately familiar with the trait. But when it was this foolish, this misplaced – it was unrespectable; not something he could ever share like this. Like lambs to slaughter the Thunderer led his troops amongst vultures; so vulnerable, so utterly foolish. And so he would wait, this was when the dead go marching in, after all. The demise would be so easy to grant but he had different plans in his cunning mind...

The Prince, now self-crowned into a higher station, did not care for the kinsman that served as scrying material now. He killed the Jotunn himself and remorse was not in his repertoire. It was deserved anyway. The being was slight for his kind but nonetheless greater than the small royal male, alas such limitations never bothered the 'survivor'. This death was sly, not really a fight – an assassination more likely.

The deceased had been an advisor in Laufey's misbalanced court. The position was upheld even after the shifting of the rulers. The man had been clever, not your usual Frost Giant material. More mind, less brawl – and it was something he should have appreciated. And maybe he would have, had the man questioned less his new authority. A great head that he had on his shoulder did not help him now that he was a corpse. But when he was still alive there were forcedly respectful inquiries – there where they should not have been present.

This barge-in on the Allfather's door, what would that enthrall for their figuratively dying race? Laufeyson could understand where these vitally important questions came from, alas he had low tolerance for those that failed to comply to his commands. And so he did not deny the possibility that his secret schemes could be thwarted and whispered by the councilor into Odin's ear when the opportunity arose – and that was simply unacceptable. Therefore it was not against logic that this overly nosey Ice Jotunn served a different, a higher purpose. As a carcass he had more use than he would if he had been kept breathing.

Killing a brethren was not unthinkable to the new leader. He was not well liked amongst his own people, no more was he appreciated beyond these lands as well. Such had never bothered him; he took what he wanted and removed anything that stood in his path. Why, the very way he came to his post did not gain him admirers. What the Heir had done before committing patricide was also not honorable by any means but that was not his fault anyway. Unlike what some 'better' races thought, these kinds of actions were not viewed as wholly admirable by Jotunns. Cruelty was not worshipped blindly, surely they lacked the convictions like those of heroic Asgardians, but it was accepted – not appreciated. Besides if not for their current Lord, they no longer had anyone strong to turn to, opposing him was madness and the beings of ice did not lack foresight as much to dare do so.

In his mind the one at fault for his heinous crimes was the deceased King. Had Laufey not known that he wished to rule? By all means that was his right, he was the Crown Prince. He was raised for this purpose. But rather than getting the proper training to become what he was now, he was raised upon the _idea_. Had it been any different, if he were convinced that reigning over Jotunheim was not his destiny, then he would not have opposed stepping aside and allowing another to lead the Frost Giants. Alas it was not so...

He could often disappear and no one cared for it but the oldest child was still present at times in court as it was befit to his position. The former Ruler had forever viewed him with something that made his cold blood boil. It was something, something... was it disappointment perhaps? That held no meaning now, for his father was dead and that was that.

Long before his death, the Jotunn King had called upon a fraction of his court, consisting of those he trusted more (but there was no actual trust given to anyone, it was perhaps the same paranoia that Loki shared as well). The small circle was made aware of the one that would inherit his legacy, the castaway royal male was also present. To the surprise of most the chosen Heir was not the eldest son, it was the second born – Helblindi. The firstborn was angered by this: how dared the man that called himself by _that_ name, deny him of his birthright?! In his opinion his brothers, his half-brothers were bastards. He was the sole child of the Queen, therefore he was the legitimate Heir.

It should not have been peculiar – the events that followed. Soon after that Helblindi, a man in his own right at that time, had been found murdered just beside the Throne. His head was severed from his shoulders and the assassin had not even attempted to cover his tracks. To those who had known of the decision it should have been clear – the culprit, however nothing was done to find the guilty.

Laufey had simply looked at his oldest with that same look and as always the Princeling felt that he did not exist to his predecessor. Perhaps it was because nothing could have been done or perhaps it was because he was _her _son, but punishment did not come for him either way. The people, unknowing of the selected Heir and assuming it to be the one born first, were simply told that the middle child of their Leader was slain. Ice Giants being what they were did not ask any questions and did not find this information to be of any importance. They were not bothered by any possible future, they lived in the 'now'.

And so for the moment, Loki had been content. Years passed and the fact that he had killed his own flesh and blood disappeared as the trifle thing for him that it was. Life returned to its path and he did not care that his father remained in power. But peace for him had never been a constant state, once again he began seething. The 'trusted' ones were gathered again (he was also there) and so the King chose an Heir once more. Why he had done so, the small Jotunn did not know. There were still several millennia that the man could have ruled, so from where the need to point out his future successor came was a mystery.

For the second time it was not him to get the recognition, it was the third child, the youngest son – Byleistr, who had unknowingly received the title. So sooner than the last killing had taken place, barely a week after the secret meeting, the young adolescent was found dead in his bed. While the boy had been sleeping, his throat was slit. It was a merciful end and Byleistr simply did not wake up the next morning.

The eldest Prince had sent both of his siblings to Hel, to meet their mother. He did not hold the two males as his brothers, not even his half-brothers. It was blood that connected them – yes, but that was where it all ended. They had not been close, not at all and he even doubted whether the two held any brotherly affection for each other. They were up-brought distantly from one another, even more so than was norm for Frost Giants that usually led independent lives. They were strangers, not brothers. But still the younger had died in a painless way. Loki needed him out of the way – it did not mean that the child had to suffer.

Laufey had done nothing when he found the youngest dead, the cycle only repeated. Worst of all, the passed King did not harbor any guilt for his own faulty choices, so how could the kin-slayer feel any when the father's heart was as cold as ice...

Truly, he felt no remorse for taking these extreme measures. The only things he ever regretted were things he never had any power over – such as those that occurred prior his birth or at the time of his infancy. And those thoughts always led to such heaviness that he was not used to feeling, to grieving over things he could not mend... This line of thought was not for now, he had guests to greet and not history to ponder...

* * *

**A/N**

**Helblindi** and** Byleistr **are Loki's brothers according to Norse mythology. The aforementioned one's name means _Hel-blinder_ or _All-blind_, the latter's – _Bee-lightning_.

**There was a review and so this chapter was published as promised!**

**I am sorry dear lurkers but I cannot even make a headcount of you. And I do not think that it is too much to ask for comments in return for the hours I spend writing and editing this fic.**

**So give me your commentary and I will update as promised. If there will be any reviews – then the fifth chapter will be published on the 29th of April! **


	5. Demanding guests

**Author's notes:**

**Mechanicalhyena**, thank you for your review! I am glad that you are enjoying it so far and I hope that my story will continue to intrigue you :)

**Lemomina**, thank you for your review! Well at least it has your comment now! :D Oh, I am very wary of AUs myself, so I can understand the hesitancy. Ah, the update intervals, yes, I do understand how lengthy they are. However there's nothing that can be done with them, I cannot set a regular span of time between them either. And this is not because I am currently burdened with exams, this setting is unlikely to change soon. This is mainly so because I am very concerned about not running out of pre-written chapters, such a scenario can cause a hiatus – and such things frighten me (one of my fics has been on hiatus for four months now because I have no pre-written material). Additionally my hot-off-press creations are riddled with mistakes and I am prone to accidentally overlooking them, so I have to leave them to 'ferment' between proof-readings, since I write to get as far from the currently published chapters as I can – the first reading yields good results – but not good enough, so the second reading has to have a time gap for me to slightly forget what exactly I've written down. If these would be the only reasons – then a two week time between updates would be possible, however I have a different ongoing fic that already has such a fast (for me) publishing manner and I fret heavily that neither of these would fall behind. So I really cannot offer reassurance that these lengthy spaces between chapters will be reduced. The only thing I can suggest is that you could read a story of mine with the two-week thing, which is about Loki and Sigyn too (it is called Prophecies, I've mentioned it before), but its style is different and whether it will be interesting to you – I cannot say.

**Illusions-chan**, thank you for your review! I agree with you completely – _Prophecies _and _Whims of Ice _are very different concerning the writing style, and so it doesn't mean that if a reader likes one – that he/she will like the other. True, true, short chapters aren't always unsatisfactory, as long as they do not cover too much in too little – that way missing to portray everything sufficiently (although as much as I know, I am more lenient to over-lengthening, so maybe I will be alright in that aspect). And the exact reason why this story is getting shorter chapters and slower updates is because _Prophecies_ is (hopefully) going to be a huge saga, as you said a 'mammoth' that _Whims of Ice_ will not be able to compare with where it concerns the length. I am glad that the characters were IC and I hope that I will not disappoint your expectations in the future!

**Guest**, thank you for you review! I am glad that you are enjoying this story :)

**StrawberryPeaches**, thank you for your review! Well, Sigyn had to be compliant to the story, therefore her profession was chosen with her character, which is vital to this fic. Having her as a warrior just wouldn't have worked with the personality.

* * *

**Chapter five**

_**Demanding guests**_

The group of Asgardians marched deeper into the grounds of the 'palace'. Everyone clutched their weapons, they were feeling weary about this situation. Only their leader was calm and confident, it was not in his nature to tread carefully and cautiously. He was a warmonger, not someone familiar with something like espionage.

They walked further into the courtyard of the grand and crumpling dome, at least Sigyn thought that it was the front courtyard. She tried to distract herself with contemplating the structure. It was not like what she had heard about Midgardian castles, there were no smaller buildings that could have housed the people of the lower tiers, therefore perhaps this estate was more like the heart of Realm Eternal.

There were also no gates or surrounding walls present, nothing that could indicate the presence of any physical barricades against enemies. The young Lady had to remind herself that this world had been devastated by war, so maybe those walls were destroyed during it. However the wreckage was overall visible but there were completely no signs of any remains of stone barriers, not even the bases of the defending structures were caught by her sight. She theorized that there weren't any to begin with, maybe the Jotunns had never assumed an attack to be possible. Or perchance their defenses were similar to those of Asgard – based on magic rather than fences of rock. Somehow the idea eased her mind, it was foolish though, because if that was indeed the case – then this place was more dangerous than initially believed. It was most possibly the familiarity of such a chance that calmed her, for she was not in her usual state of mind and known things made it easier to deal with the sensation akin to that of a fish being removed out of its bowl of water.

The girl followed while submerged within great unease. It was not usual for her to be this close to the action. She could only hope that a battle would not occur but this mission was so sketchy that she did not know exactly what to expect. When she did her duty on the battlefield she nearly always was in some further encampment, tending to the wounded there. Even if it were not so, the female would heal someone as far away from the fighting as was possible. It was not that she feared for her wellbeing but it simply did not make sense to be there where she would be a nuisance rather than an asset. If there would be an armed collision right here, then the presence of a helper (such as she) would be a hindrance. A healer that would have to be protected was useless, she was meant to aid the fallen but that would be impossible if she should occupy herself with fending for her life or trying her best to avoid being struck. Alas in this situation there were no encampments, no safe corner for her to retreat into. They could not have left the Vanir somewhere else because she could always be taken or killed by one of the realm dwellers and that would destroy the purpose of bringing her together in the first place. Leaving her behind and having someone guard the girl-woman was illogical as well. Therefore there were no other options than to simply tag along and hope that all would be well.

The female half-blood prayed to the Norns that her eyes would be deceiving her. Alas from her peripherals she could tell that her orbs were not the only ones looking around in a frantic matter. It was only wishful thinking – to believe that this were a mirage, an illusion caused by the cold world. There was movement behind the ruins, above them, in the shadows. If it were singular then it would have been possible to simply have been an animal, however it was not. The only explanation was Frost Giants. She may have not known much about strategy but even to her it was clear, by the amount of these shadowy presences, that they were surrounded.

Prince Thor was uncaring, he roared to the presences.

"Show yourselves!"

Sigyn was glad that he had not called the hidden ones 'cowards', like he had referred to Jotunns before. She assumed that they would not take well to such an insult, however the absence of it did not quell her fraying nerves.

"I am Thor Odinson-"

"_We know who you are, Thunderer_" a disembodied voice replied to the billowing call. It echoed magnificently amongst the crumpling remains of a once grand fortress. The tone was calm and cold, colder than the realm itself. It frightened the Vanir immensely, inspiring stronger chills to wrack her from, these tremors she could not ease even slightly with will-force alone. Despite the apathy tangible in the sound, it was not soothing in any way. The voice was low and petrifying, however it did not sound demented or even attempting to instill fear. The texture of it (even with the lowness and depth) was velveteen, something that could have not only been used in commanding but also be pleasant to the ear. To the untitled Lady – loud, earsplitting battle cries or raging screams of accusations would not have been as terrifying as this, it emanated danger, it was pure danger reincarnate. She was not an amazing judge of character but in her fitful and scattered estimations it sounded intellectual and sinister.

With the appearance of the voice, the invisible motions had ceased immediately but their presence remained. It was as if the sound puppeteered the shadows.

However the Throne Heir of Asgard was unfazed, he simply continued with the interrupted stating of purpose.

"I have come here to find out the cause of why the contract was breeched and why you stepped foot into _my_ realm!"

The wielder of the ricocheting voice (the direction of which was difficult to pinpoint, best assumption was that it came from the great structure itself) did not reveal himself. However silence was not met.

"_My, what demanding guests do we have_..." it dragged down in playful malice, the answer was not given.

"Answer me! What cowardice permeated declaration of war is this?! Show yourself and answer me! Who showed you the path to Asgard?!"

"_Presumptions, aren't you, Odinson? You claim the actions of a few to represent the actions of a realm. The only threat of war that I see, is the one before me. Is it not Asgard declaring war to Jotunheim_" it was not a question and the taunting in the last sentence was evident, even if the laughter was missing. "_There are traitors in Odin's court, they have showed the way to Gladsheim_"

"Do not dare slander the court of the Allfather!"

The shadows became alive, from every nook and cranny the inhabitants of the realm revealed themselves slowly. Sigyn's heart went to her throat; her knees shook – they were surrounded. Imposing creatures as tall as their heritage told appeared. They were frightening, bare-chested – their strong musculature showed. From the blue skin with intricate markings to the reds of their eyes – the tales rung true; they were Giants indeed.

The God of Thunder remained unintimidated. Volstagg clutched his axe and said the royal one's name but he remained uncaring. His head was stubbornly turned to the entrance of the palace, and while the shaking healer could not see, she was sure that his eyes did not leave the presumed direction the bodiless voice spoke from.

As the Jotunns stepped forth from the places they lurked in waiting, the voice became closer and echoed less.

"_You came to hear the truth and now you have it_"

Atop the huge stairs of the fortress a figure emerged from the darkness. The blonde woman could not tear her gaze away from it, she felt as though her body had become stone, it did not respond to her instincts or commands. It was a Frost Giant, very small for a Giant but despite the distance she could tell that he was tall by Asgardian measures, perhaps no shorter than the Aesir Prince himself. Alas she could tell that it was no child, it was a man. His stature should have been less imposing, however he instilled fear no less than what the female presumed to be his subjects.

His garb was different from what the others wore. The shape of the piece of clothing did not resemble a skirt, it was a piece of a much longer material that was connected by strings and shiny clasps with the fabric at the back, his legs were visible at the sides. Unlike the other beings he had his black hair long and smoothed back. A silver-tinted circlet was atop the male Jotunn's head – signifying royalty. His stance was relaxed, showing grace and poise, alas it emanated confidence. Sigyn felt alarmed, his presence seemed lulling and that made him more dangerous than his brethren.

"I should take your coming here as a declaration of war – like you did when Jotunns wandered into Asgard. However, I will be graceful – you are allowed to leave our world. So leave and never return" his voice had lost its disembodied sound as well as the depth and lowness but the other qualities remained. The tone was apathetic yet held a certain sense of power underneath the indifference.

Lady Sif approached the Storm God, she whispered something to him. The Asgardian's posture became rigid, he did not reply in any way to the Leader of the monstrous creatures. Without a word he showed his acceptance by turning his back and beginning to walk away. The girl almost gave a sigh of relief – they would return home safe, this adventure would end without losses.

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**A/N**

**Please review and the next chapter will be uploaded on the 13th of May!**


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